


eat

by cymbalaire (aigremoine)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Food, Slice of Life, spoilers for timeskip occupations, this is basically a love letter to all meals in a day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aigremoine/pseuds/cymbalaire
Summary: your relationship with osamu in different meals
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52
Collections: HAIKYUU|HQ





	eat

**Author's Note:**

> another repost from my old blog because i can't stop thinking about that tweet about how osamu is marriage material haha. i wish i have something new to offer but my life has been playing genshin impact (finally made it past the prologue and now in liyue woo). happy holidays!

**dinner**

You are _exhausted_.

It’s been a tiring day that has commenced at seven in the morning and continues until past six in the evening – far too long for your own liking, though you obey the call of duty. It _had_ been a good idea to stay past the end of your shift, the remaining tasks in your to-do list still more extensive than you would have liked despite checking off numerous duties completed throughout the day. But the exhaustion you feel weighs heavily, the longing for the comfort of your bed increasing by the tenfold with each step you take and each stop on the subway on your journey home, and you mentally chide yourself to _never_ do this again.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally disembark at your designated stop, a weary sigh escaping you as you emerge from the subway station exit. Your feet automatically take you to your usual route home, autopilot already activated the moment you left the office. But the sudden sound of your phone buzzing in your coat pocket draws you back to reality, and the sense of dread you're all too familiar with begins to rise. You gingerly take the device out to examine the newly arrived message as the first thing you think of is _what happened this time?_

Instead, you find yourself smiling when you read Osamu’s message.

> **From: Osamu 🥰**
> 
> _Love, did you eat yet?_

You quickly type a message chiding him for texting while he is at work; the term _downtime_ was nonexistent in Onigiri Miya’s dictionary, waves of customers coming and going throughout the day to buy their meals. He responds immediately, much faster than you had expected, and leaving you perplexed.

> **From: Osamu 🥰**
> 
> _I closed the shop early for the night_
> 
> _Come over_
> 
> _Dinner’s on me_

You sigh, shaking your head, but you find yourself smiling. He is genuinely Atsumu's twin, marching to the beat of his own drum in a more toned-down manner; you want to chastise him for closing the shop early, but the energy to do so is nonexistent, drained by the bustle of the day. Besides, there was no way you can say no to him preparing dinner, cooking skills outrivalling yours (just by a _tiny_ notch), and transforming everything he concocts into something incredibly delectable. It's something to look forward to, and before you know it, you're humming a cheery tune to yourself as you head to the direction of the shop.

As expected, the sign in front of Onigiri Miya indicates that the shop was closed early for the day and would resume regular hours the following morning. _He really closed the shop_ , you think to yourself, shaking your head once again at his spontaneity. You pull out your copy of the key for access to the main entrance, but before you can insert it, the door opens as though sensing your arrival.

“Hey,” greets Osamu, his lips quirked upwards into a smile. “Come in.”

He secures the door shut when you follow him, and you pull him into a tight embrace when he turns to face you, winding your arms tightly around his waist and burying your face into his broad chest. Osamu manages a chuckle as he hugs you back and rests his chin on the top of your head. “Missed me?”

“Yes.”

“Very honest today, aren’t ya?”

“‘Samu, don’t tease me,” you mumble, looking up at him with a pout. “I’m tired.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Come, dinner’s ready.”

Osamu loops an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to one of the seats in the shop, the table already set. The aroma is incredibly appetizing, the food fresh out of the kitchen, and it suddenly sinks in that you’re famished after an arduous day. He’s prepared a hearty meal – hot miso soup, steamed rice, piping hot tempura, and grilled fish. You turn to him with your mouth hanging open; there’s a smug expression on Osamu’s face, pleased with your reaction.

“‘Samu, did you really –”

He laughs at your bewildered reaction and presses a quick kiss on your temple. “Shush,” he answers. “C’mon, sit down.”

There's really no point in arguing with him, not when he already made up his mind a long time ago. Once you hang your coat on a nearby coat tree, you get settled in your seat, and Osamu opens two cold cans of beer after you give thanks for the meal. As expected, the food is incredibly delicious – well-seasoned and crispy, not too oily or heavy for the palate. Osamu has a way in the kitchen, a magician of sorts with any ingredient that he lays his hands on, crafting new flavors or adding a modern spin to traditional dishes. He’s worked hard to get to where he is to open Onigiri Miya, from training in culinary school to learn under the tutelage of experienced chefs, and pride blossoms within you as you savor each bite.

“How is it?” he asks, pausing to take a sip of his soup. “Is the flavor okay?”

You nod your head, swallowing before answering and giving him a thumbs-up. “Delicious as always.”

Osamu grins, pleased with your answer. “That’s good. How was yer day today, love?”

“Tiring.”

“Oh? Wanna talk about it?”

You hum, setting down your soup bowl on the table. “Just…a lot of tasks that need to be done before the end of the month for management, the usual.”

“Hm…are ya askin’ the coworkers for help?”

You look away, choosing to take an interest in the shrimp tempura you're eating, and Osamu laughs. “Guilty as charged, huh?” He muses, propping his elbow on the table to rest his chin on his palm, an amused glint in his eyes.

“I’m trying to,” your voice comes out as a mumble. “It’s just I do things faster.”

“Well, how are they gonna learn if yer not holdin’ em responsible for their own tasks?”

You pout. “I know.”

“Ya say that all the time, but you don't do it. Promise me that yer gonna do it this time, ‘kay?”

“…Okay.”

He reaches out to pluck out the grain of rice from the corner of your lips, pops it into his mouth, and you make a face at him. “You’re gross,” you tell him.

“The only one allowed to call me gross is ‘Tsumu.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him that; I’m sure he’d like it.”

Osamu reaches out to pinch your nose, and you whine, your lips forming another pout. " _Love_ –” he begins, as though warning you from telling his twin anything embarrassing.

“Fine, fine, I won’t tell him,” you huff, holding out your rice bowl towards him. “Can I get more rice, please?"

“Yer wish is my command.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

Osamu grins and reaches out to pinch your nose again. “I love ya too.”

* * *

**snack**

The second Friday of the month means it’s date night.

The living room is set up for your evening – cushions and blankets prepared, two chilled bottles of rosé accompanied with wine glasses, and the Netflix title screen displayed on the television as you wait for Osamu. The sound of the knife making contact with the cutting board is a rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat, steady and consistent, almost trance-like. You hum to yourself, open one of the bottles and pour the drink into the glasses; he’ll scold you for getting impatient, but you’ve been anticipating movie night after how hectic the week has been. But you don't have to wait long; Osamu emerges from the kitchen, holding a wooden board and sets it down on the coffee table to accompany the drinks.

As expected of him, the grazing board consists of beautiful colors and neatly arranged, carefully considered, and planned out. Slices of manchego and gouda are cut into sharp shapes and arranged to create a fan of half-moons; portions of prosciutto and salami cut thinly; small bowls of olives and pickles, spinach and artichoke dip, and hummus; brightly colored carrots, cherry tomatoes, grapes, blueberries, strawberries, and oranges; crackers and pretzel sticks accompanied with cashews and almonds. All pieces are artfully displayed, and a whistle escapes you at the impressive sight, prompting you to take out your phone to take quick snapshots to commemorate the grazing board.

“Wow,” you muse, putting your phone on the couch. “You _really_ outdid yourself this time.”

Osamu chuckles as he sits down on the floor to take his place beside you. “Of course. It’s date night.”

You hand him his glass of rosé as he chooses a movie immediately, settling for an animated film. A giant mechanical structure consisting of multiple moving parts appears on the screen. Osamu wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you respond by leaning against him as the two of you focus on the film while picking apart the contents on the grazing board. All the chosen ingredients mix well together; the fresh fruits and vegetables contrasting the creamy cheeses and savory meats, crisp textures of the crackers complemented by the dips, the whole board as a final product consistent and a delight for your palate.

Pride and joy fill you with every bite, and you turn to him, lips quirked into a gentle smile. “‘Samu,”

Osamu pauses from refilling the glasses with more rosé upon the mention of his name, and he turns to you. “Hm?”

“Thanks for feeding me.”

Osamu smiles and reaches out to pinch your nose. “Any time, love.”

* * *

**lunch**

You grit your teeth as you quickly pull yourself together for the morning, a whirlwind of movement as you collect your things around the apartment. Of course, your body clock would fail you on a workday, and it just _had_ to happen on a day you didn’t set your back-up alarm on your phone. A quick glance on your wristwatch reveals that you must leave _now_ unless you want to miss your train, and you curse, searching your purse for your train pass and ensuring that you had everything on your person before running out the door.

“‘Samu, I’m heading out!” You call out, slipping your feet into your shoes and nearly falling over in your haste.

“Love, wait!” Osamu emerges from the kitchen, holding a lunchbox neatly wrapped in a cloth printed with an intricate floral pattern. “Don’t skip meals,” he reminds, taking your purse to place it inside and closing it once again. “Here ya go.”

“What’s this?”

“Yer lunch, silly. Don’t buy any of that takeout stuff when my food’s better.” Osamu taps your forehead, as though to make sure his words would stick in your mind.

You raise a brow. “Do you want me to flex your cooking skills to my coworkers?”

“Of course,” he grins. “’s made with lotsa love, after all.”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you take your bag from his hands, gratitude filling your chest at his gesture. You glance at the time once more; you're running late, but you can't help but grab the front of his shirt, and Osamu's eyes widen at your actions, mouth parting as a question is about to escape him. But you don’t hear it when you pull him down, your lips firm against his to steal his words, and you pull away quickly as it began.

A smile tugs on your lips once more, the words spilling in a breathless hurry as you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder. “Thanks. See you later. I love you.”

He grins, leans in to plant a quick peck on your lips, one more for good measure. “See ya later, love.”

* * *

**breakfast**

You curse your internal body clock when you realize you're up at six in the morning on a Sunday. Helpful during the weekdays, yes, but not necessarily what you need on a weekend when you are hoping to get a little more sleep. The faint sunlight is already beginning to seep through the curtains, and you know any attempt to return to sleep would be futile, your body already fully conscious.

A mumble into your shoulder prompts you to turn your head; Osamu's sound asleep, dark hair a tousled mess, and his arms wrapped tightly around your frame. You hope that he remains asleep – he deserves to rest, his days always starting early at the shop, and continuously hard at work to deliver the best meals for customers. Sunday was the only day left in the week for a brief repose, where he is just your Osamu and not the owner and head chef of Onigiri Miya. You carefully release yourself from his arms, movements slow as to not wake him, and you eventually manage to emerge from his warmth and the comfort of the bed after a few minutes.

If you’re going to be awake this early, you might as well be productive.

You make your way to the kitchen after changing and washing your face, a menu already prepared in your head for the first meal of the day, and collecting all the needed ingredients before getting to work. In no time, the kitchen is bustling with activity from your movements and the exhaust fan's whirr. Pancake batter is mixed and poured into the griddle, while scrambled eggs are cooking on a non-stick pan, and bacon strips are crisping in the oven. You hum to yourself, preoccupied with your tasks, but a squeak escapes you when you feel Osamu's arms wrapping around your waist and his lips against your temple.

“G’mornin’,” he yawns, burying his face into your shoulder. “Yer up early.”

"Good morning," you echo, shutting off the stove once the eggs have cooked and immediately scooping them onto a plate. "I wanted to make breakfast, so I woke up early."

“It’s _Sunday_ , love.”

You turn your head to smile at him. “I know. But you’re the one who makes breakfast every morning, I just wanted to return the favor.”

A lazy smile forms on Osamu's face at your sentiments, and he presses another kiss to your temple. "Yer sweet."

“And _you’re_ in the way. Go make coffee for us.”

“Aye, aye.”

By the time the components of your breakfast are finished, and the tableware is set, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts throughout the kitchen as he sets down two mugs on the table. The two of you give thanks for the meal, and it is silent and peaceful, the only sounds of the cutlery clinking. You admit you treasure moments of calm like this, away from the bustle and obligations that come with every passing weekday, as though you are in your own shared world. Osamu looks happy as he digs into his plate, corners of his lips turned upward, and you laugh when you notice a smear of maple syrup on the corner of his mouth.

"'Samu, you have syrup on your face," you tell him, reaching out and wiping it away. He leans into your touch, a pleased expression on his face that reminds you of a cat, and you pinch his cheek. "Aren't you happy this morning."

“Yer cookin’s good.”

“It’s just something simple.”

Osamu’s gaze is warm, twinkling with fondness as he looks into your eyes, and you feel butterflies stirring within you. “I know but I feel happy when ya feed me ‘cuz I’m the only one who gets to eat whatever ya make.”

You can’t help but blush at his honesty, a soft laugh escaping you. Despite your relationship spanning several years now, he never fails to make you feel like you’re in high school again, his unabashed sincerity always catching you off-guard and fluttery. It’s one of the things you first discovered about him when your relationship began during your school days, hidden by his usual laidback persona, a pleasant surprise that only reveals itself in your presence. “You flatter me too much, ‘Samu.”

“Just tellin’ the truth,” he answers innocently, slicing a pancake into neat triangles. “Maybe ya should feed me breakfast every mornin’ so I can have a good day at the shop.”

"Okay, now you're just corny."

“Maybe – but I know ya like it anyways.”

“You know I do.”

Osamu grins triumphantly, and he continues to heartily eat his fill, a pleased expression on his face with each bite he takes. A content feeling blooms within you at his happiness, more than enough to leave you feeling full at the sheer joy from the meal. It’s all you can ask for; all the effort and mess in the kitchen worth it to see his contentment, a satisfactory reward to watch him enjoy his meal.

And when Osamu plants a peck on your lips and murmurs gratitude as he helps you wash the dishes, you think you’d gladly do it all over again every day for him.


End file.
